


Switched

by Sed



Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron somehow ends up in the user world, and no one believes that he's not Alan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switched

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Tunatastic's](http://tunatastic.tumblr.com/) prompt.

“Yori!” Tron raced up to the other program, ready to catch her in his arms. He didn’t have the slightest idea where he was, or how he had come to be there, but her familiar face was enough to calm his uncertainty.  
  
“Alan? What did you call me?”  
  
He froze. Something wasn’t right. “I—who are you?”  
  
“Don’t be weird, Alan, I’m really busy today. Go find Flynn, he’s always got time for this stuff.” She shook her head as Tron backed away. “I’m sure he’ll get whatever you’re up to. And that… hat.”  
  
“But… hat? I’m—I’m not Alan,” Tron said. Could the Alan she mentioned be his user? That didn’t make sense. He was feeling confused, disoriented, like he’d gone too long without an energy intake. He turned and hurried away from Yori’s double. All of his relief at seeing her smile twisted and turned to fear. Something was very, very wrong.  
  
Flynn. She had said to find Flynn. He wondered, could this be the user world? It was soft and strange, but that seemed to be the only logical explanation.  
  
“Hey Alan!” someone called. Tron spun around and looked for the source of the voice. He found himself face-to-face with Ram.  
  
“Ram, but you derezzed—” No, it wasn’t Ram. He stopped himself and tried to suppress the pang of melancholy that accompanied the memory of this friend. What was this world, that everything he held dear was copied so like, yet so frighteningly _unlike_ his own?  
  
“Ram, huh? You’re starting to pick up Flynn’s habits. He’s in his office, by the way. I heard what Lora said. Nice hat, looks like something from a hockey game. Say, is this some kind of roleplaying thing? Like Dungeons and Dragons? Can I get in on it?”  
  
Tron shook his head and walked away from the man.  
  
Flynn’s office. Office? Tron looked around, but nothing seemed to indicate where he should be headed. He considered stopping to ask for directions, but he didn’t know if the programs that populated the area would assist him. One wall branched off into a corridor, and it seemed like a good place to take his search. He walked quickly, making sure not to touch anything, concerned that it might turn out to be harmful. Objects hung from the walls—reflective, but containing the still likenesses of programs. Were they trapped? He wondered if they had done something to anger the users. It seemed like a much more effective method of containment than cells; especially if it suspended their processes and minimized their energy needs. He tucked that thought away for another time.  
  
Voices floated through the air from some unknown source. Tron looked at the doors on either side of the corridor. One was open, spilling blue light into the dimly lit space. The color was comforting, familiar, and he raced toward it. When he reached the door his expectations met with disappointing results. The room was tiled, like the light cycle grid, but much smaller. He slid a foot forward—bothered by the realization that he was no longer in his own armor, but rather wearing something entirely foreign—and touched the tiles gingerly. They were hard, but smooth, and the short boot on his foot slipped along the material with ease. Stepping fully into the room, he noticed several smaller partitions, their walls reaching just short of the ceiling. There was a sound—a horrible, grating sound, and Tron ducked back around the corner. He poked his head back into the room and watched as a program stepped out from one of the small doors. She walked toward a reflective surface on the wall and began touching her hair. Her eyes flicked to him and she froze.  
  
“Hey! Mr. Bradley, what are you _doing?_ This is the women’s bathroom!”  
  
Tron started and swung back around the other side of the wall. He was sure the program would come after him, but he wasn’t sure he could defeat her; her suit looked light, but her heels were spiked and her armor had wide, solid shoulders, which seemed to indicate that she was a program meant for battle. He reached back for his disc. Gone.  
  
The only option was retreat. He ran for the closest door and pushed it open. It gave without any trouble, and he stumbled into a small, dark room. All around him in the darkness lights blinked and flashed, green and red. Whether or not they were gridbugs, he would never know. He tore from the room and ran—he didn’t know or care where. Soon he found himself at a dead end; no cover, no escape. It wasn’t in his code to be a coward, but he wasn’t on the Grid, and he couldn’t be certain of anything. He shut his eyes and tried to calm the roar of an impending crash.  
  
“Alan?”  
  
Tron opened his eyes.  
  
“Wait a second… no, can’t be. You’re not—Tron?”  
  
Flynn, or what he took to be Flynn, stood before him, wrapped in the same strange armor as the rest of the programs he’d encountered. He was smiling, but Tron found nothing humorous about the situation. “Flynn, is that you? Or are you another copy?”  
  
“No man, I’m the real deal. In the flesh. You too, I see. Not sure how that happened, but we’ll figure that out eventually. Someone told me Alan was acting strange, and then I heard he was peeping in the ladies room, I figured it was worth checking out.”  
  
“Flynn I don’t understand any of this, or what you’re saying, please, help me get home.”  
  
Flynn put his hands up and stepped forward. “Alright, alright. Calm down. First let’s get you to my office, so you’ll stop scaring the hell out of my employees.” He reached for Tron, and for a moment the program held himself away. Then Flynn smiled, and he could hear the buzz of confusion and panic fading into the background. “Flynn, I’m so glad I found you.”  
  
“Well I found you, but I’m glad you’re okay. Come on, let’s get this straightened out.”  
  
They walked back down the corridor; Tron tried to resist when he realized their course would take them past the “ladies room” Flynn had mentioned, but they made it by without incident. He focused on the sound of their footsteps as they walked, trying not to look up at the programs—users—he knew would be staring, no doubt having heard that Tron was not one of their own. When he dared to look, he found that those he could see were mostly hard at work, going about their functions diligently. All but the woman he had encountered with the spiked boots. He walked closer to Flynn when she looked at him and glared.  
  
“Here, this is my office,” Flynn said. He pushed open a large door and stepped inside, motioning for Tron to follow.  
  
“It’s… large,” Tron said. He took in all the strange objects that lined the walls and surfaces, and watched as Flynn slipped behind a long, flat desk. The user leaned back in his chair and regarded Tron with a grin.  
  
“All mine,” he said. “I have you and Yori to thank for that.”  
  
Tron nodded. He didn’t quite understand what destroying the MCP had done to secure Flynn a desk and a chair, but if it made sense to a user, he wouldn’t question it.  
  
“Of course,” Flynn continued, “this is just for now. I’ve got a lot going on, a lot in store for the company. And some… other projects, stuff more your speed, I think. It’s all just,” he made a chaotic motion with his hands, “a jumble of ideas at the moment, really. I’m pulling it together, it’s gonna take time. A lot happening these days. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans, though, right?”  
  
“I suppose.” In truth he had no idea what Flynn was saying, and only half of his words many any sense at all.  
  
“Exactly. So, what do you think?” Flynn sat up and ran his hands along the smooth surface of the table. He looked like he was expecting an answer, but Tron was still trying to figure out what Flynn had meant by _his speed_.  
  
“What do I think?” He decided to be totally honest. Flynn was, after all, his friend. As well as a user—the user who had helped save their system. “I don’t understand anything you just said, Flynn, I’m sorry. I’d like to go home now, if that’s alright.”  
  
Flynn was obviously disappointed; his shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically, but he was smiling nevertheless. “I figured I was getting ahead of myself. Well, the only thing I can think of is sticking you in front of the laser and zapping you back inside. Worked for me. I’d love to know how you got out here, and—hey, you don’t suppose Alan is inside, do you?” He stood up and moved from behind the desk to lean against the front, close to Tron.  
  
“It does seem possible,” Tron replied. If this _Alan_ was his user, Alan-one, he had no doubt that he could handle himself just fine. Things had improved almost immediately after Flynn’s intervention, and the Grid was no longer the dangerous war zone it had been under Sark and the MCP. If anything Alan-one would find himself welcomed by the programs. “I’m sure he’s fine, if that’s the case,” he added.  
  
Flynn smiled, and Tron found himself doing it too. He had missed that smile, and Flynn’s in-the-moment attitude. There hadn’t been a chance to say goodbye after their adventure. Yori was able to, but not him. Tron searched his memory—which seemed a lot less orderly and precise than it should be—trying to remember what it was Yori had taught him. Something she learned from Flynn that was significant to the user. He found the memory, and something in him tingled at the thought of it. Riding the tiny wave of excitement that accompanied the sensory recollection, Tron stepped forward and put his arms around Flynn’s shoulders. He pressed his lips to the user’s, the same as Yori had done for him, only he lingered just a bit longer than she had. Flynn made a surprised noise that quickly faded to something much more agreeable, and his arms came up to wrap around Tron’s back.  
  
Tron pulled away and opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed Flynn wasn’t done; he pulled the program down, and his tongue slipped into Tron’s mouth.  
  
Yori hadn’t told him about that part.  
  
When they broke apart it was almost violently. Flynn gasped for breath and pushed Tron back, sending him stumbling, but not so much that he couldn’t remain upright. “What the hell was that?” Flynn demanded. He was breathing hard, and his skin was flushed a light pink.  
  
“I wanted to thank you, and—and I never got to say goodbye.”  
  
“Send a card, man! You don’t just… I mean, I liked it, but…” he pushed himself from the desk and reached for Tron. “One more time.”  
  
Tron started and put his hands up, but Flynn slipped through his defenses and tangled his arms around Tron’s body again, this time fitting himself tight against the program. “What about Alan-one,” Tron protested quietly. “We need to find him.”  
  
Flynn was kissing his neck, pushing against him with the lower half of his body in a way that made Tron feel both hot and extremely pleased. He put his arms around Flynn again and mirrored his movements. Tron wasn’t a Bit, he quickly figured out what was going on; nothing about their actions suggested a farewell or a thank you, but at the moment he didn’t care.  
  
“He’s not going anywhere,” Flynn muttered against his neck.  
  
That was sound logic. “Mm,” Tron replied, sliding a hand down to Flynn’s backside to drag him further forward. “Are you sure?”  
  
Flynn reached up and pulled him down into another kiss, this one deeper, and even more intimate. He stopped just long enough to take a breath and rock himself against Tron. “Absolutely sure. Let him have the adventure this time.”


End file.
